


tonight

by writelikeitsgoingoutofstyle (twoandahalfslytherins)



Series: unwitting [4]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 'no one will believe me because ________', ... not internalized victim blaming, Female Rapist, Male rapist, again barely mentioned, but that thing, coming to accept that someone you know might be a rapist, former Elizabeth Schuyler/Alexander Hamilton, former Maria Reynolds/James Reynolds, former Martha Manning/John Laurens, heavily mentioned, though the final two aren't heavily mentioned- this is part of a series, you know the thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-04 01:52:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6636157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoandahalfslytherins/pseuds/writelikeitsgoingoutofstyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marty smiles at her weakly, but Theo isn’t done, “When we preclude the idea that someone might have been a rapist due to their gender, sexual orientation, or what good deeds they might have done- we hurt survivors. We silence an already silenced population.</p><p>I want you to know that what he did? Is not okay. And anyone who brings up the good that he’s done as a reason to silence you?</p><p>Does not have your best interest in mind.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	tonight

Hercules pushes a red name tag and a sharpie towards him. “Here we go, put this on and no one will talk to you. Unless, of course, you talk to them first.”

It’s been a few months since the divorce was finalized, but the man has finally managed to convince him to attend this group. There’s a name, something cliche about taking it one step at a time, but Hercules had summed it up different.

A place for hurt people.

There were rules, posted clearly on the table with the name tags. While supporters were welcome to attend, one was only allowed to talk about their own traumas. Apparently there was also a specific group for friends of survivors on every third Tuesday, a place more specifically, to talk about maintaining personal health and the health of someone who had recently gone through something devastating.

Devastating. Alex had tried to argue that what he went through didn’t count. Even tried to argue that the space was probably meant for women. But considering that Hercules was one of the moderators, the conversation didn’t last long.

Apparently he hadn’t been that far off in his mental snarking about Mr. Sensitivity Training.

Alex is almost about to sit down when he sees her, and Hercules shoots him a look when Alex digs his nails into his arm by accident. “I have to go.”

“Why?” Hercules asks, looking tired.

And he’d feel worse about that if it weren’t for the fact that he is five seconds from being seen. “I know someone-”

“Alex?” Maria asks, then her eyes flicker to his chest and she nods before grabbing a yellow tag of her own and walking away to fill it out at her seat.

Hercules glances between them, then focuses on Alex. “Bad blood or just a general know?”

Honestly, he’s not sure. They’ve run into each other a few times since the first night, since the coffee shop incident. Maria’s always distantly pleasant with him. Will let him buy her a coffee or a beer, sit with him in a diner. Mostly they complain about the latest political scandal, Alex doing his best to respect the information she probably hadn’t meant to reveal to him.

“Look, if you have a problem with her? Go. But she’s not even looking over here, and she doesn’t look tense. I don’t think she has a problem with you being here.”

Alex looks in her direction again before nodding, allowing Hercules to guide him toward an unoccupied seat. He fiddles with the edge of his hoodie, tries to think about what Lafayette might be making them for dinner.

He’d lost the house in the divorce, had gained an awkward position on Lafayette’s sofa despite the fact that he’s now paid well enough to afford a place on his own. Hercules insists it’s so that he doesn’t drink himself into a coma, which is almost funny considering he hasn’t had much more than a beer or two at a time in a year.

No, they’re the ones who are always stumbling in drunk at 2 AM. But Alex likes those moments, secretly, because he can be useful. Can help them find their bedroom and fetch them water.

Slowly the circle fills, and it turns out that Hercules was right. Even if the space is slightly dominated by women, he’s not the only man there. Two or three others take their places, and he makes brief eye contact with each before turning his attention to the woman at the front of the room wearing a green name tag.

“Good evening, my name is Theo,” She says, smiling brightly at them, turning to make sure that everyone is acknowledged. “I’ll be one of our moderators for the evening. If you don’t feel comfortable speaking to me, you can find Hercules toward the back.”

Alex twists his head to see Hercules waving from his position next to the drink table. Theo asks if they would like to introduce themselves, and one by one they go around the circles. Most of the people with red tags, like himself, pass on the question. Silent observers not yet comfortable with the arrangement. Hercules had told him that it was okay to just sit in for a few sessions.

Maria introduces herself, calls herself a victim of partner abuse. Tells the group about how she works for a bakery. Alex hopes she’s happy there. The woman sitting next to her is familiar, but Alex can’t quite place why. She’s a blond woman, who barely looks up from her lap when she says her name is Marty.

Alex turns the name over in his head, but nothing springs to mind and he focuses his attention on the next person. A man. Samuel. No other information given, it seems only those who have been there before speak up with much more. The green tags speak the most freely, though he supposes that makes sense in its own way.

Finally, when all the introductions are done, Theo asks if anyone is interested in sharing a win for the week. Maria didn’t cry when a large man came into her shop yelling about an order that didn’t arrive on time. Sam stood up to his abuser, is crashing with a friend for now. Some of the wins are bigger than others, but each one earns a round of clapping. From the girl who went to all of her classes to this week to the one who reported her rape.

Part of him wants to say ‘I came here’, but he doesn’t think that’s allowed. Isn’t sure it’s a win yet either. But he does think he likes this part. The celebrating of successes. The lack of recognition between ‘I got out of bed’ and ‘I fought a giant.’

Sometimes the former feels like the latter for him.

Theo opens the floor next, for people to talk about things relating to their trauma that upset them. To share their stories for the first time if they would like. Alex glances back towards Hercules, who smiles at him encouragingly.

If the man thinks he’s going to speak, Alex is only going to disappoint him. He still isn’t convinced he’s been through anything worth speaking about.

Sam speaks up about how hard it is to get the cops to intervene for male on male domestic violence. How hard it is to make the call anyway, considering he still loves George, and how much harder it makes it when he’s met with anger or laughter.

A woman to Theo’s left shares her own experience with reporting. Makes sure to clarify that she isn’t trying to overstep any boundaries or minimalize what he went through. That she just wants him to know that even though some of the struggles they face are different, he isn’t alone. She’s wearing a green tag though Alex can’t quite read the name on it. He thinks he likes her.

Marty raises her hand and Theo recognizes her, encourages her to speak and Alex’s world starts to fall apart as she does. “Hey… I’m Marty. I almost didn’t come tonight because well, what happened to me happened so long ago. We were fresh out of high school, teenagers really-”

As she keeps speaking, the voice becomes more familiar, his brain starting to clue in. “Do you ever feel like it’s pointless to speak up?”

All around the circle heads nod, and she smiles a tight smile. “It feels, somehow, even more pointless to speak up now. We were young. I thought we were in love. He was going off to war. Just finished boot camp.”

Alex tries not to think about the dog tags in his room. Tries not to connect this woman with his dead friend. Even as his brain supplies ‘Martha, her name is Martha Manning’.

Marty keeps speaking even as his head spins. “I tried to pretend it didn’t happen. After all, I was a good Military Spouse, or, well, gearing up to be one. We were supposed to get married. It was my job to support him. In all things, right?”

How could a story sound so familiar and tear him to pieces at the same time?

“When John came back from his first tour, he moved all of his things out of the house. Said he’d already been in hell, he didn’t need to come home to it. He was so angry. I told myself it was fine. Expected, really. How much had I heard about PTSD?”

Alex had helped John move his things out. The explanation at the time had been that Martha just didn’t understand what it was like to go to war. To come home a stranger. Alex hadn’t said a word as he helped him pack his bags. Hadn’t thought twice about the situation.

There are tears in her eyes and Hercules appears over her shoulder, carrying a small thing of tissues. She takes it gratefully. “We met up a few times after that. To try and reconcile. Each time… Well. And then he came out of the closet, at least to his close friends. I heard about it through the grapevine. Just another reason why it had to be in my head.”

He can hear John’s voice in his head, five pints in as he slurs about how much of a bitch his ex is. How she doesn’t understand, how she won’t leave him alone.

A piece of him wants to deny it. And maybe if it weren’t for that, he could. If John had been soft, if he’d cried over their breakup. If he’d expressed any remorse at all instead of just… hating her.

Alex stares at the ground as she keeps talking, voice going in circles as she starts to dismiss herself and then repeats her right to talk about it. He’s not sure, but he thinks this means she’s talked to someone before. Thinks she’s borrowing someone else’s words to reassure herself that it’s okay, she’s allowed to break this silence.

A hand settles on his shoulder and he jerks, stares bewildered up at Hercules who gestures to the hall with his chin. But no. Alex can’t leave now. If he leaves now, he’ll go back to denying it. He’ll go home and get drunk and pretend it was a nightmare.

Martha deserves better than that. It doesn’t matter how close he was to John. It doesn’t matter that John had gone through hell. No one had the right to touch a woman like that. Touch anyone like that. It’s funny how much the mental edit sounds like Hercules.

“John died within two months of being redeployed. They gave him an award for posthumous bravery and I hate myself for speaking ill of the dead. Of the man who fought so hard for my country and our safety- but at the same time… He clearly didn’t care about mine.”

Hercules doesn’t move from his spot over Alex’s shoulder. One hand resting there, most likely intended to be comforting. But Alex isn’t the one who needs comforting right now, Martha does. Martha’s the one who has been silent for what? A decade?

All because of his best friend. Alex bites down on the urge to retch.

Theo waits for a beat, and when it becomes clear Marty is done, she starts to talk. “I want you to know that him being a war hero? Doesn’t change what he did. You don’t have to recognize or respect that he was a hero at all. You never have to acknowledge it if you don’t want to.”

Marty smiles at her weakly, but Theo isn’t done, “When we preclude the idea that someone might have been a rapist due to their gender, sexual orientation, or what good deeds they might have done- we hurt survivors. We silence an already silenced population.

I want you to know that what he did? Is not okay. And anyone who brings up the good that he’s done as a reason to silence you?

Does not have your best interest in mind.”

Another nod from Marty but she seems wiped out. Alex can’t blame her. Can’t imagine what it feels like to be her, to open up one’s heart in a room full of strangers and hope that they don’t fuck it up. That no one throws self-doubt back at them.

The moment passes. Someone else speaks up but Alex can’t hear them anymore. He knows he’s being rude to the woman speaking, but he can’t focus. Can’t stop looking at Marty and wondering if she recognized him. If she knew who he was.

Maria shoots him a strange look from across the room, and he realizes too late that she might think he’s been staring at her. Shakes his head and lowers his eyes. Herc’s already moved on, to grab a glass of water for someone else, but Alex excuses himself from the group finally.

Stops at the snack table to grab a bottle of water for himself before crumbling just outside the meeting room. Stares at the ugly burgundy carpet of the church they’re borrowing, trying to ignore just how blurry his vision is becoming.

When he hears the door again, he expects it to be Hercules. Instead, Maria appears, sitting down in front of him cross-legged. “Your name tag means I shouldn’t talk to you.”

Alex rubs his fingers on the carpet, trying to ground himself in the texture. “It’s fine.”

“Good, because I was probably going to pretend to be talking to myself if not.” It’s a joke, Maria smiles at him slightly but he can’t find the humor in anything right now. “Are you upset that I’m here?”

“No.” Not at all. This place belongs more to her than him anyway. “Are you upset that I’m here?”

Maria shrugs. “I will admit it was a bit shocking to see you here. But it’s the risk we run considering there’s only one group for people like us in this town. I can’t expect you to drive an hour just to find help.”

  
He should say something. Correct her assumption that he’s like her. That he’s been through anything worth mentioning. Instead, he looks up at her, with tears brimming in his eyes. “I knew him. I knew John. And I didn’t know. The entire time? I didn’t know.”

That makes Maria eye him warily. “Do you think she’s lying?”

The question makes him cry harder and he awkwardly rubs at his eyes with his jacket. “No. I just wished I’d known. Maybe I could have prevented it. Made him stop. He died over a decade ago. She’s been silent for that long, Maria. If nothing else… If nothing else I could have believed her.”

“Do you think you would have at the time?” Curiosity.

Truth is, Alex doesn’t know. He hadn’t been any older than John at the time. Had teased him when he came out of the closet. Let him complain without a second thought about how terrible Martha was, without any reason to actually believe it. Just a friend listening to a friend.

Silence stretches between them and finally Maria nods, slowly. “What matters is that you believe her now. Do you plan on telling her?”

“I don’t think she recognized me yet. If she’s here next week… I will.”

Maria looks at him for a moment and then pushes herself off the floor. “Good. Because if she does recognize you and you haven’t said anything yet? She’s going to feel terrible.”

Next week it is then. Next week it is. Marty deserves that much.

**Author's Note:**

> Why yes, making comments about how someone can't be a rapist because of how 'pure' they were- isn't great for survivors in general... much less marginalized ones. Shockingly it is no more valid of a statement than saying that because someone does community work, or is nice to you- that they can't have hurt someone else. Shockingly- those are comments that survivors receive on a regular basis. Shockingly, I am not going to post them and I don't care how 'predictable' you think that makes me- but considering survivors of female assailants are reading this? I'm not going to force them to see your comments.
> 
> As always, you have every right to make a comment about how nice someone is and how that means they can't be an abuser. You have every right to complain that women aren't rapists. 
> 
> But a new fic will be written. You choose to trigger me by invalidating trauma survivors with language and ideas that have been used against me and my friends and my personal community- I have no reason to not write it considering being triggered in the morning fucks up my whole day anyway.


End file.
